Chapter 3

The email arrived on a Tuesday morning, its cheerful subject line a stark contrast to the knot forming in my stomach: 'Holiday Party RSVP - A Chance to Mend Fences!' I stared at Madison's name in my inbox, my finger hovering over the delete button. Three weeks had passed since I'd walked out of Ryan's office with my research notes, three weeks of silence broken only by terse exchanges through our lawyers.

I opened the message against my better judgment.

'Sarah, I hope this finds you well. I know things have been difficult lately, but the holiday season is a time for healing. It would mean so much to everyone if you attended the company party this Friday. Perhaps we could even clear the air between us? Warmest regards, Madison.'

The audacity was breathtaking. I could almost see her typing it, that calculated smile on her face, the silver pendant—my pendant—gleaming against her neck.

'Delete it,' I muttered to myself, but something stopped me. The Arctic Research Foundation had requested additional materials for my application, and some of my reference documents were still in Ryan's home office. The party could provide the perfect cover to retrieve them without another confrontation.

I hit reply before I could change my mind. 'Madison, thank you for the invitation. I'll be there briefly.' No warmth, no pretense.

When Friday evening arrived, I stood before my closet, suddenly conscious of how many of my clothes had been purchased with Ryan's approval in mind. I pushed past the designer dresses he'd insisted were 'appropriate for a VP's wife' and found a simple black dress I'd bought years ago, before I started dressing for someone else's life.

The Seattle Tech building was transformed, its usually sterile lobby now glittering with silver and blue decorations. Soft jazz played as employees mingled, champagne glasses in hand. I slipped in quietly, nodding at familiar faces whose expressions ranged from pity to curiosity.

'Sarah!' Madison's voice cut through the crowd. She glided toward me in a form-fitting red dress, her smile wide but her eyes calculating. 'I'm so glad you came.'

'Madison.' I kept my voice neutral. 'I won't be staying long.'

'Of course.' She touched my arm lightly, the gesture visible to anyone watching. See how gracious I am to my predecessor? 'Ryan's in a meeting, but he should be down soon. Can I get you a drink?'

'I'll get my own, thanks.' I moved away, making a slow circuit of the room. Several of Ryan's colleagues approached with awkward condolences disguised as small talk. I answered politely, all while scanning for the best moment to slip upstairs.

An hour later, with Ryan still conspicuously absent, I made my way toward the service corridor that led to the executive elevator. As I passed the catering kitchen, a flash of red caught my eye—Madison, speaking intensely with one of the servers.

Something about her posture made me pause. She was gesturing toward a large pot on the industrial stove, her back to the door. Instinct told me to keep walking, but curiosity won out.

'Excuse me,' I said, stepping into the kitchen. 'I was looking for—'

Madison whirled around, her face registering surprise that seemed rehearsed. 'Sarah! What are you doing back here?'

'I could ask you the same thing.' I glanced at the server, who quickly busied himself with arranging appetizers.

'Just checking on the food.' She moved toward the stove. 'The crab puffs are Ryan's favorite.'

The casual mention of his preferences, the implication of intimacy—it was all so deliberate. I turned to leave, suddenly exhausted by the charade.

'Wait,' Madison called. 'Since you're here, could you help me? The chef needs this oil moved to the warming station.'

Before I could respond, she reached for a small pot on the stove, her movements oddly theatrical. What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion: Madison's hand brushed against the pot's side, and she let out a piercing scream, clutching her wrist as the pot wobbled precariously.

'She pushed me!' Madison shrieked, her voice carrying beyond the kitchen. 'Oh my God, Sarah pushed me into the hot oil!'

I stood frozen, disbelief rendering me speechless as employees rushed in, drawn by her cries. Madison cradled her hand, tears streaming down her face as she backed away from me.

'I didn't—' I started, but my protest was drowned out by the commotion.

Ryan appeared in the doorway, his face hardening as he took in the scene. 'What the hell is going on?'

'She attacked Madison,' someone in the crowd supplied.

'I never touched her,' I said, finding my voice at last. 'Ryan, she's lying.'

But he was already at Madison's side, examining her hand with tender concern I hadn't seen from him in years. He looked up at me, his eyes cold with judgment.

'Security,' he called over his shoulder. 'Escort my wife out of the building.'

Two security guards materialized beside me, their expressions uncomfortable but determined. As they led me through the parting crowd, I caught Madison's eye over Ryan's shoulder. Through her theatrical grimace of pain, I saw it—the flash of triumph, the slight curl of her lip.

This hadn't been an invitation to mend fences. It had been a trap, and I had walked right into it.